I rise, letting out a breath of air as our eyes meet. Killian doesn't let go of my wrist; his touch is electric. My heart hasn't calmed, but now it pounds for a completely different reason—Killian's eyes are on my hand, clutching the dagger.

"Out in the forest armed with a dagger." He raises his gaze, a glint in his eye. "I'm not so sure that's allowed."

I tear my arm from his grip, stepping back and shoving the dagger back in its sheath. I was so relieved to see him and not a thief from the forge that I didn't think about what I must look like. Dressed in a man's clothes, with a dagger, covered in dirt. Maybe things are different in Portson, maybe this won't come across as unusual to him—I can only hope.

Before I can say anything, Killian's a mere foot away, hand reaching out. I freeze as his fingertips brush my hair back from my neck, eyes zeroing in on the exposed skin. I'm so shocked by the touch that for a few moments, I forgot what my hair was hiding.

"I fell," I say, a lousy explanation, but the first thing that comes out.

"How unfortunate," he murmurs. He doesn't believe me.

I step back so his hand falls away and the cut is covered by my hair again.

Killian glances over my shoulder. "Were you running from somebody?"

"What? No."

"Just scared of the dark, then."

"I'm not scared of the dark." The bushes rustle behind me. I fight the urge to turn around.

"I'll walk you back," Killian says, stepping to the side.

I don't say anything, too proud to admit that I'm glad. I'm not scared of the dark, or the forest, but a sinister feeling crawls across my skin, and Killian's presence chases it away. He falls into step beside me, ducking under low branches that hang a foot above my head.

"You didn't come to class today," I say, staring at him out of the corner of my eye.

"Did you miss me, Freya?"

"No." Warmth rushes to my cheeks. "I was just curious. Where were you?"

He doesn't say anything for a few moments, the coos of a bird filling the air between us. "I was dealing with... business."

I stop walking to stare at him. "Business?"

"Yes."

I frown. Maybe Jakob had been right; maybe he was looking for new work. But why?

"What are you doing in the forest this late, dressed like that, with a weapon?"

I lift my chin. Maybe if I act like it's normal, he'll think it is, too. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"What is it that your friend said yesterday at the lake? It's not exactly becoming of a young lady."

I adjust the dress over my shoulder, wishing I'd just put it on. "I don't care if you don't approve of my current attire."

I should. If he told anyone, both Casimir and I could be questioned by the council for suspicious behaviour.

"I never said I didn't approve."

There's a glint in his eye that makes my stomach twist. The slight tilt of his mouth, forming a dimple in his left cheek. I shiver, continuing forward. I can only hope things are different in Portson and Killian doesn't think to report me. The last thing I need right now is the council poking their nose in my business, or Casimir's. If something happened to him because of my recklessness, I'd never forgive myself.

The trees thin out as we reach Casimir's cabin. Killian doesn't stop walking till we reach the front door and I turn to face him.

He eyes the cabin behind me, gaze curious. "Home alone?"

"Casimir had to check a few things at the fields."

"This late? What a hard worker."

There's something about his expression that sets me on edge, like he knows something I don't. I shift from foot to foot. "Well, thanks for walking me back."

He bows mockingly. "I'm honoured to protect you from the dark."

"I told you I'm not scared of the dark."

"Oh, but you should be, you have no idea what lurks within it. Mountain lions, shifters, thieves." He leans closer, eyes searching mine. "Deserters."

I swallow, refusing to break his gaze. "Like I said, I'm not scared of the dark."

"You want to know what I think?"

Yes. "No."

"I think you want them to find you."

"I'd rather not have a run in with a mountain lion."

"We both know I wasn't talking about the mountain lions."

My heart skips a beat, but I keep my expression stoic. How can he see straight through me? "To suggest I'd want a run in with any of those dangers you listed is beyond ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Yes. The deserters are a deranged group of rebels who want to bring the shifters down—shifters who give us so much."

"Recited perfectly from the mouths of your professors."

"It's true."

He takes another step closer, backing me against the front door. I've never been one to be distracted by beautiful things. But those dark eyes, high cheekbones, sharp jawline—I blame them for the reason I can't tear my gaze away.

"I don't believe you," he murmurs, low. He saves me from a response by turning around. "Goodnight, Freya."

I can't find my voice as I watch him go, my heart hammering in my chest. I've been searching for the deserters for months undetected. Casimir hasn't even caught on, and he caught me in the forge. Yet Killian has been here only a few days and it's like he can see right through me. Fear pools deep in my belly. What if he goes to the council?

"Killian?" I call. He turns, standing at the edge of the forest. "What were you doing in the forest at this time?"

He grins, left slide of his mouth lifting slightly higher than the right. "Business."

He's gone before I can sayanything else, the night swallowing him whole.

___

Casimir doesn't come home.

I lie in bed, the sheets pulled to my chin. Branches dance to the bird calls outside my window, the leaves swirling in the wind. My mind drifts to Killian wandering off into the forest in the middle of the night. For all I know, he could have very easily been heading home and cutting through the forest. But the question still lingers in my mind--what was he doing so far out in the first place?

Eventually, I drift off, Samu filling my dreams. It's spring. Flowers bloom in the meadow outside the harvesting fields. He runs through the colourful fields, squealing in joy as Casimir catches him with an arm around his waist, swinging him around in the air. The next thing I know I'm with my father, standing in the cold by a rundown cabin on the edge of the forest. My dream is fragmented, reality mixed with fantasy, voices I can't pull apart, but there are murmurs of deserters and shifters, of a cabin in the woods. My father shuffles me behind his legs as he whispers to an elderly man.

When I wake in the morning, my heart is hammering. In the daylight, I try to pull apart the sections of my dream. It was Myers' house, an old man who lives secluded at the edge of Veymaw. People in the village dismiss him as an erratic crazed man who lost his mind. He rarely leaves his home, and when he does, he skitters through the village like he's being hunted.

I've been there with my father, once. The memory is distant, and I can't remember why, but I don't remember any discussions of deserters. Had that been part of the memory my subconscious remembers, or is my mind so focused on deserters that mention of them is showing up where it never existed?

I slip from bed.

Casimir still isn't home, the sheets untouched. I slip from the bed and press my fingers to the mattress--cold. Glancing out the window at the forest, my concern grows. It isn't like Casimir to stay out all night, not without warning me first.

I drag myself from the room and into the kitchen, stomach settling. His tunic from last night lays haphazardly over the kitchen stool. He must've come home and already left for work. I dress quickly, tucking a crème blouse into an emerald skirt, and head out the door with my satchel slung over my shoulder.

Usually, I enjoy the walk to class. But the day is grey, dark clouds rolling across the sky and signalling an incoming rain from the coast. Moisture hangs in the air as I duck into the school building, lingering in the doorway of Professor Finn's classroom. My eyes immediately draw to the seat in the row behind Cadence. Killian absently taps a pencil against the wooden bench.

"Two minutes late," Professor Fin notes, clucking his tongue. "It isn't the weekend yet, Freya."

Only two more months. Then I'll be done with school for good.

I grit my teeth and find my seat next to Cadence, making a point of avoiding Killian's eye as I brush past.

"Sleep in again?" Cadence whispers, leaning over.

My dream comes to mind—Samu's smile, his silky, dark hair. "Yeah."

The lesson goes by fast. I'm stuck in my head the entire time, thinking of the man sitting only one row behind me. I don't feel his gaze like I did the other day, but I don't dare turn around to check. Our conversation from last night plays on my mind and I can't ignore the anxious thoughts racing around my mind.

I think you want them to find you.

He'd practically accused me of treason. I didn't say anything to agree with him, but it doesn't keep the nerves from conjuring. He may have no proof of what he said, but he found me in the forest at midnight, wearing men's clothing, and armed with a dagger—he certainly has cause to report me.

I stare out the window at the dark clouds rolling in, shunning the sun. There are only two weeks till the Red Moon now; the clock is ticking faster than I'd like, and other than my near-death encounter with two deserters in the forge two nights ago, I'm no closer to finding them than I was when I started searching four months ago. The thought fills me with dread.

I need to see Myers.

___

As soon as class finishes, I head to Myers'. His workshop is located on the far side of town, on the track that leads to the harvesting fields. It's small, and even from the outside, bursts at the seams. I was eight years old when my father dragged me here, two days before we adopted Samu. My memories are blurred, but I remember the cluttered inside of his house; I remember him telling my father I shouldn't be there. But other than what happened in my dream, I don't remember any mention of deserters.

I knock on the wooden door and wait for three minutes before I knock again. After another 2 minutes, Myers pulls the door open only a centre metre, peering out through the small crack.

"Yes?" he asks.

"Uh, hello, my name is Freya."

"Who?"

"Freya Raune," I repeat. He starts to close the door, so the gap is even smaller. "You knew my father, Tyrin Raune."

He pauses. I feel his eyes rake up and down my body. "Oh yes. Tyrin. That's right."

"I... I was wondering if I could talk with you." I hold up the basket in my hand. "I bought scones."

Eventually, he pulls the door all the way open and steps aside. He's smaller and frailer than I remember, a few inches shorter than me, with salt and pepper hair and circular spectacles resting at the end of his nose. I take a step inside, hit by the scent of stale air. He closes the door behind me.

It's as cluttered as I remember, broken contraptions piled up around the wall, only a small path leading through the packed room. The windows have been boarded up with wooden planks. Myers leads me through the mess to a makeshift kitchen. I peer around, taking a seat on the wooden stool as he settles in the armchair, knees knocking together. The spectacles make his eyes bulge.

"What brings you here, Freya?" he asks.

I place the basket on the table between us, folding one leg over the other. "My father brought me here when I was a child."

"Indeed. Yes."

"I..." My mouth dries up. I hadn't thought of what I wanted to say to him; I honestly didn't think I'd get this far. "I... I guess I was just wondering why?"

"Very sad what happened to your father." He stands, turning around and pulling through a pile of broken tools behind him. "Yes yes. Very sad. So very sad."

His erratic movements unnerve me. The room smells awful, like it hasn't had fresh air in months. I fight the urge to cover my nose and force myself to breathe through my mouth.

"Were you... friends?" I ask.

He lets out a high-pitched giggle, getting to the bottom of the pile and pausing before turning around. He holds a piece of metal the size of my palm, staring at it as if it's a beautiful jewel. "Here you go." He hands it to me, staring expectantly.

I take it from him hesitantly, turning it over in my hand. It's lighter than I expect, the edges smooth as it narrows at the top into a mountainous shape. Scratches mar the flat edge, as if it's somebody has attempted to destroy it. I look back up to Myers, a frown on my face. It's just a scrap piece of metal.

"Uh, thanks." I tuck it into my pocket.

"Your mother was a pretty lady."

"My mother?"

"Huh?" He turns around, rummaging through the mess again. "Who is your mother, dear?"

"You said—" He blinks at me, confused. "Never mind."

I never knew my mother. My father never mentioned her, and as I grew up and saw that many of my friends had mothers, I asked him about mine. That was the day I learnt about death.

I watch Myers again, trying to decipher the words he mumbles as he rummages through the mess. Kinkri? Kinjri? Cinjru? They're too muffled for me to make them out.

"I had a dream last night," I say. "About when my father brought me here. I-I don't know if it's real, but I think... I think you were talking about the deserters."

He swings around so fast it startles me, eyes bulging. "Who sent you?"

"What?

He's on me in seconds, pressing me against the pile of mess behind, the top of my blouse fisted in his hand. He bares his yellow teeth. My dagger is strapped to my thigh, beneath my skirt, but I don't need it. I could easily fight him off if I wanted. His unintelligible rambles send a chill down my spine.

As much as I want to knock him back, Casimir always drilled one thing into me—don't let anyone know you can fight. Not unless your life is on the line. You never know who you can trust to keep that secret.

"Nobody sent me I swear. I-I didn't even know if that was a real memory—"

A knock on the door interrupts us. Myers freezes before releasing my blouse, stepping back as he stares at me. "The door," he murmurs, the crazed look from his eye gone, as if he's forgotten what he just did. "Yes. I have to get the door."

He turns around like I'm not even there, making his way back through the mess to pull the door open and closes it to shut me in. My heart leaps in my chest as I adjust my blouse, tucking it back into my skirt. I shouldn't have come here. It doesn't matter whether my dream was real or imagined. Something tells me that anything Myers tells me could be real or imagined, too.

I manoeuvre around the junk to the front door, pushing it open slowly, the fresh air like a warm hug. Closing it behind me I step around the side of the house, my basket of scones forgotten. Myers stands in the shadow of the cabin. But he isn't alone. Both sets of eyes draw towards me.

Killian.

___

Why do you think Killian was in the forest?

Why do you think Myers was afraid the council had sent Freya?

What do you think might happen next?